Sermon from January 15, 2005
In Dan Brown's novel, The Da Vinci Code, a young woman, Sophie, says to her grandfather, "You think Jesus Christ had a girlfriend?"

Her grandfather replies, "'No dear, I said the Church should not be allowed to tell us what notions we can and can't entertain,'" (The Da Vinci Code, 247).

Protestants could not agree more. We have made it a virtue to greet with skepticism the pronouncements of any church, especially the Catholic Church. Churches, Protestant and Catholic, often bring this suspicion on themselves by a take-it-or-leave-it attitude. "This is the word of the Lord, and, if you know what's good for you, you'll pay attention. If not, too bad for you."

Last Sunday, I ended the sermon by saying, "If we love the book, we will love the Church." But the book is so much easier to love than the Church. This take-it-or-leave-it attitude does not endear the Church to people.

But suppose there was a better way. Suppose churches abandoned this take-it-or-leave-it attitude. In its place suppose they saw it as their responsibility to propose to people their way of looking at the world, and not try to impose that way on them. It would be more like an invitation to conversation about important matters.

This sermon addresses these two different faces of the Church. I want to begin with a story from Puritan Christianity in this country prior to the Revolutionary War.

Church and State in New England
We may know enough American history to recall the famous line from John Winthrop's sermon, which he wrote on his voyage to the New World in 1630. He called New England "a city on a hill."

Here's what he said: "Wee shall finde that the God of Israell is among us, when tenn of us shall be able to resis a thousand of our enemies, when hee shall make us a prayse and glory, that men shall say of succeeding plantacions: the lord make it like that of New England: for wee must Consider that wee shall be as a City upon a Hill, the eies of all people are uppon us."

What modern history books may not say much about is the profoundly Christian nature of that city on a hill. The people we all call Pilgrims were English Puritans, who followed the teachings of John Calvin. More specifically, they were Congregational Christians. They came to the New World for religious freedom from the state church in England, the Anglican Church.

What we seldom hear is that they wanted to be the state church in New England. They succeeded in Massachusetts and Connecticut for more than 200 years. In fact, the Congregation Church was the established Church in Massachusetts until 1833; nearly 45 years after the U.S. Constitution forbade the establishment of any church.

It was their way of imposing their ideas of the Christian faith on everyone, who settled in New England. The church could look to the state to do its bidding. In that respect they were like the Anglicans in England, the Reformed Church in Geneva, the Lutheran Church in Germany, and the Catholic Church in France.

Theologically, they were similar to these other Christian communions in one important aspect. They baptized babies. Presbyterians, who were also English Puritans that followed the teachings of John Calvin, applauded this form of baptism. Baptists, another strain of English Puritans that followed the teachings of John Calvin, disagreed. But baptizing babies was the sacred act that admitted a person to the Church.

If the Congregationalists had stopped there, the history of the United States would have turned out differently. They did not stop there. They not only wanted to be the established Church of New England with infant baptism as the doorway into the Church; they wanted something else that was incompatible with an established church.

A Church of the Elect
Congregationalist churches also required their members to have a credible, personal experience of salvation. If they could not persuade the pastor that they had had such an experience, they could not receive the Lord's Supper.

Maybe it is going too far to say that this was imposing something on people. But the social pressure to perform must have been enormous. It was not enough to say they believed in Christ. It didn't matter that they were already baptized. They had to narrate evidence that persuaded the pastor or the elders that God had done an unmistakable work of regeneration in their hearts. If they couldn't do it, not only could they not receive the Lord's Supper, but they could not have their own children baptized.

This arrangement worked well for one generation. As many devout parents can attest, children do not automatically follow them in matters of faith and devotion. Neither did the children of those devout Puritans. That was the dilemma that troubled Congregationalists for 250 years. At first, the Church was simply in danger of shrinking, as more and more Congregationalists had unbaptized children. Those clever Puritans came up with three solutions.

In 1662, they came up with what is called the Halfway Covenant. That arrangement allowed parents who had been baptized to have their children baptized, even though they themselves had not yet related a credible, personal experience of salvation. They still couldn't receive the Lord's Supper until they gave proof of God's work in their hearts. Not very satisfying, but it kept the boat afloat.

This unsatisfying state of affairs found a second solution in Northampton, MA. Solomon Stoddard, who pastored there for more than 50 years, made a radical change. In his view, "New England was a Christian nation, or, in his terms, (it was) 'the Commonwealth of Israel,'" (Noll, 41). That meant that every baptized citizen of MA and CT, who professed faith in Christ and lived free of scandal could receive the Lord's Supper, even if they couldn't relate a credible, personal experience of salvation.

This change received mixed reviews all over New England. Among those who disliked it, none was more significant than the man who, 30 years later, succeeded Stoddard as pastor of the church at Northampton. That man was his grandson, Jonathan Edwards, perhaps the greatest American theologian of them all.

Edwards offered a third solution to the Congregationalist dilemma. It began in 1734 in Northampton under his ministry. Historians call it the First Great Awakening. It seemed that an entire region of New England was turning to God. It went on for months. As a result, "almost all the adults in the town," (Marsden, Jonathan Edwards, 160) belonged to the church of Northampton, including many African slaves.

This overwhelming religious experience happened twice during his ministry there. It even caused him to express the hope that what they were experiencing was "the dawn of the days preceding the millennium," (Marsden, 292). Nevertheless, Edwards knew that intense emotions cannot last, and he wanted to put something in place that would conserve the wonderful works of God. He came up with a plan. "Early in March (1742) he drafted an elaborate church covenant," (Marsden, 260).

Edwards did not arbitrarily impose it on the church. He did all the right things to get widespread in-put and agreement. The church of Northampton accepted the covenant on March 16, 1742, a day of solemn fasting and prayer. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but it was the beginning of the end of Edwards' ministry in Northampton.

Their experience with that covenant illustrates a permanent temptation for Calvinists. They "could both preach salvation by wholly unmerited grace and at the same time guide the church with a legal system of the moral law," (Marsden, 261).

Legal systems have a way of degenerating quickly into legalism. Enforcing the covenant was Edwards' downfall. He was a brilliant theologian and superb pastor. The covenant made him into a judge, and as a judge he made serious tactical blunders. He came across as arbitrary, even bullying. Teenagers challenged his authory with impunity.

From 1744-1750, his relation to the congregation at Northampton unraveled. Finally, "an ad-hoc committee of neighboring churches," (Marsden, Jonathan Edwards, 359) after months of unpleasant wrangling, met and demanded that he tender his resignation.

"After dedicating twenty-three years of his life to Northampton, making it for a time a famous center of orthodoxy and revived spirituality, he was set adrift with a wife and seven dependent children," (Ahlstrom, Religious History of the American People, 304).

I mean no disrespect to Jonathan Edwards and the Puritans of New England with this description of their struggles. Their achievements were gigantic. But there was a fatal inconsistency in the soul of Congregationalism, and they had to impose their ideas to make them work. This Puritan tendency to impose Christian faith and morals has been a difficult habit for American church leaders to overcome right down to the present day.

Earlier, I mentioned a better way. Our responsibility is to propose to people our Christian way of looking at the world, instead of trying to impose that way on them. A proper understanding of the Church gives me hope that we can do this. So, let's think about the Church for a few minutes.

The Pastoral Center of Gravity
In the Apostles' Creed we confess: "I believe in the Holy Spirit and the holy, catholic church." The ministry of the Holy Spirit in the Church creates the proper environment for proposing instead of imposing our way of looking at things.

Look with me at John 16:13. Jesus said: "But when he, the Spirit of truth, comes, he will guide you into all truth. He will not speak on his own; he will speak only what he hears, and he will tell you what is yet to come."

When Jesus said of the Spirit, "he will guide you into all truth," it is possible that He was referring to the Spirit's guidance in bringing the New Testament into existence. People I respect taught me that. I believe that is part of what Jesus meant. Along with many other people holier and wiser than me, I believe He meant more than that. We believe that the Holy Spirit also guides the Church into a growing understanding of how the Bible speaks with authority to ever-changing human circumstances.

If that's right, then the Spirit has been guiding the Church that way for 2000 years, and the Church preserves a record of that guidance. You can read it in theologians of the Church from Polycarp in the second century to Alister McGrath in the twenty-first.

You can read it in the decisions of the Church councils from the Jerusalem Council in Acts 15 to the Second Vatican Council in the 1960s. You can see it in the hymns and prayers and biographies of the Church. The Spirit's guidance prepares us for the next scripture.

Let's turn to 1 Timothy 3:14-15. Paul wrote to his protégé, Timothy: Although I hope to come to you soon, I am writing you these instructions so that, if I am delayed, you will know how people ought to conduct themselves in God's household, which is the church of the living God, the pillar and foundation of the truth.

That last clause is a throw-away line. He did not prepare us for it before he said it, and he didn't explain it afterwards. He dropped it into the letter without warning and left it to subsequent ages of the Church to wrestle with its implications. Let's download two ideas from that line for closer inspection.

First, the apostle called the Church the pillar and foundation of the truth. He didn't mean there is no truth outside the Church. God, who makes rain to fall on just and unjust alike, also reveals truth to just and just alike. The Church has no corner on truth, except the truth of God's revelation in Israel and Jesus Christ. The Church is the pillar and foundation of the truth, because God has entrusted her with what is necessary for the knowledge of God and the salvation of mankind from the disorders of sin.

Two thousand years of Spirit-guided worship and suffering and thought and growth constitute a treasure house of truth and wisdom and a powerful platform from which to speak to our day and age. We can speak and live with confidence that God will persuade, if we will be faithful to propose. The second idea from verse 15 affirms this.

Paul also spoke of God's household, which is the church of the living God. There is one Church. God has one household. If we look at the Church sociologically, it might seem that our heart-rending divisions and multiple denominations have turned the Bride of Christ into the harem of Christ. It is not so. There is one Bride, one Household, one Church. The problem is with our fractious refusal and inability to recognize and maintain its unity in the bond of peace.

If there is one Church, the treasure house of truth and wisdom is bigger than the room where I spend most of my time. I need to step ouside "my room" and listen to what others in the hallway are saying about the guidance of the Spirit. As I discover what we have in common, it gives me courage to propose to our world the wisdom of God in the Church. I have behind me the authority of the Spirit and the unified voice of the Church.

A Personal Epilogue
I love the book, and I love the Church. The Holy Spirit inspired the one and guides the other. The book without the Church is like wind without sails. The Church without the book is like sails without wind.

Because I love the book, I not only read and study it; I want to know how the great Puritans of New England read and studied it. Because I love the Church, I want to know Jonathan Edwards' experience in Northampton. That's not just Congregationalism; that's our story. I want to imagine my way into the circuit rides of Frances Asbury and Thomas Coke. That's not just Methodism; that's our story.

We can learn from their piety. We can learn from their courage. We can learn from the books they wrote. We can learn from their failures. So generous is the Spirit, who guides the Church into all truth. So vast is the treasure house of truth and wisdom that is the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church, the household of God.